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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300937">let's kill Caghn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemakestars/pseuds/icemakestars'>icemakestars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Death, Gen, Knives, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:22:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemakestars/pseuds/icemakestars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the death of his only child and the divorce which followed, Ramsey can see the seams holding his life together unravelling, and he has questions which need to be answered. The only man who can do that - local MP Duncan Caghn - is also the man who Ramsey blames for the death of his daughter, and that anger leaves him vulnerable to dangerous suggestions from other people.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>let's kill Caghn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my dissertation piece, and I got a first for it so... yeah? yeah :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It was almost frightening to Ramsey how irregular his sleep had become. He woke up at the strangest times, often sleeping simply to pass the time rather than for rest. When he woke up now, he knew that today was no different. He had been awake all of the night before drinking, finally falling unconscious sometime after the morning news had finished, but now the alcohol was wearing off, and he was forced to face the reality of what his life had become. With a sigh, Ramsey emptied the can he still clutched against his chest, tipping out any dregs which were left and wincing. They were warm and flat, not qualities he enjoyed in his beer. </p><p>            Ramsey’s vision was blurry, his head hurt, but there was a solution for both of those, hidden at the bottom of a six-pack of beer. He was determined to find it. The floor surrounding him was almost fully covered in debris, the messiest it had been since his newly divorced ex-wife had left, and as Ramsey cracked open another can he made a toast to the moulding ceiling, offering every possible deity in the sky a wry smile before taking a large gulp. </p><p>            Amelia had always hated mess. She could tidy before she could crawl, and Ramsey was always quietly amused with her persistent cleanliness; she did not inherit it from her mother Divya, and it certainly did not come from himself. Amelia enjoyed giving her father an affectionate scolding, especially with regards to how messy he could be. She would have loathed the house as it was now, but what did that matter? She was dead. </p><p>            The empty can slipped from its place on his chest, clattering to the ground and echoing in the lifeless house. It was pitiful, and Ramsey found himself wishing for sleep to claim him again, if just to escape the reality of his situation for a few hours more.</p><p>            Before he could fall back into unconsciousness, the doorbell wheezed, a broken and shrill sound which startled him. Ramsey stumbled across the room, barely avoiding the Landmine of rubbish, almost pulling down the frayed net curtain in his haste to see who was outside. Divya stood with her arms folded and brows pulled down, staring intensely at the door as though spite alone could make Ramsey answer. </p><p>            He groaned, fist connecting with the wall in frustration, already feeling his headache even more intensely at the thought of having to speak to his ex-wife. Ramsey scrubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes until sparks flew across what was left of his vision and straightened out his back. As he headed towards the front door Ramsey practised his walk, aiming to appear sober and full of confidence; the opposite of how he truly felt. </p><p>            “Finally.” Divya muttered with a roll of her eyes, no doubt deliberately loud enough so that Ramsey could hear.</p><p>            She looked good. It was the first thing which Ramey noticed, glancing up from her fur-trimmed heels through to the pearls which clung to her neck. Divya had never been one to outwardly express her emotions, unlike himself, but this was unprecedented. Had he not known her, Ramsey would have had no idea that their daughter had died just over half a year ago. He cleared his throat.</p><p>            “A bit late for a social visit, isn’t it?”</p><p>            Although it took Ramsey a moment to adjust to the darkness, he was grateful for the veil it cast across his appearance. Shaving had become a pointless chore and his hair had not been washed in a few days. Ramsey certainly did not look or feel his best, but the dark offered solace, masking him from the scrutiny of the woman he once loved. </p><p>            “I need some money.”</p><p>Divya flicked hair from her eyes, unfolded her arms only to check her phone, not even bothering to meet Ramsey’s gaze. He gritted his teeth trying and failing to control his rising anger. They’d been here before, more times than Ramsey would like to count, but it hadn’t gotten easier to accept. After almost a decade of marriage Ramsey was amazed that her true personality could have escaped him so easily, and for so long. How had he never realised how cold and calculating she could be? Maybe the light which Amelia had radiated cancelled it out, or maybe Ramsey truly was just a fool. </p><p>“I told ya already, I don’t have a lot, and what I do have goes on rent.” </p><p>The crisp moonlight shimmered across Divya’s scalp, hair freshly cut and glossy, her clothes stylish and clean. Everything about her contrasted Ramsey’s haggard appearance, and Ramsey had never been more aware of how large the gap between them had grown. Despite feeling so self-conscious, Ramsey still held his head high, determined not to show just how uncomfortable she made him. Any sign of weakness and Divya would strike; he did not want to be swallowed up like helpless prey.</p><p>Divya took one long inhale, testing the air around Ramsey. She leaned back on the balls of her feet, lips pulled up in a sneer. “And booze.” </p><p>Heat spread across his cheeks, but the embarrassment made him angrier. Ramsey took a step back. “If I had it, I would-”</p><p>“It’s for Amelia’s memorial.” She interrupted, and Ramsey blinked at her, slow and confused. He hadn’t been told that such a thing was being held. Divya sighed. “Amelia, our daughter. You do remember her, right?”</p><p>“Of course I fucking do.”</p><p>Divya gave him her first genuine smile in months, and Ramsey took one steadying breath, making another attempt at getting his heart rate and temper under control.</p><p>“If I had it, I would give it to you.”</p><p>“Typical.” Divya sighed dramatically. “I’ll have to borrow it from my parents then.”</p><p>They both knew that this outcome had been inevitable from the beginning; that Divya was always going to ask her parents, who had plenty, for money to commemorate their deceased child. She had only wanted to shame him, and Ramsey could not believe that a woman which had once meant so much to him could be so heartless and cruel. Every word he spoke then felt like a battle, a fight to exhale and not be consumed by the fire bubbling underneath his skin.</p><p>“Yeah. Do that.” </p><p>Ramsey’s lungs felt sticky, his throat contracted, and every breath was a laborious effort; Ramsey did not know if he was about to fall into panic or fly into rage. He did not want Divya to find out the answer, either. Instead, he slammed the door shut and allowed Divya’s indignant yelp and subsequent ‘fuck you’ to wash over him, its effects lost entirely. She blamed him for Amelia’s death, that much was clear. And maybe she was right; maybe it was all his fault. Ramsey had been wondering too, every second of every day since the accident. </p><p>            He paced the hallway, hands pulling at his hair until his vision blurred from the pain. It did nothing to help his headache, but the intensity of the affliction was a reminder that he was here; that he was alive. After Divya’s presence, there was no way that he could be alone in the house now, so Ramsey grabbed his phone and keys, slipping on his oldest, most worn pair of shoes. One number appeared repeatedly in his recent contacts, and Ramsey dialled it again, unsurprised but still frustrated when it almost rang to the answering machine before Murph finally picked up.</p><p>            “Mate! What’s up?”</p><p>            Ramsey ignored the question, pulling on a jacket and stepping outside.</p><p>            “I’ll be at the Crown in ten.”</p><p>            He did not need to ask if Murph was there; he always was.</p><p>            “I’ll get you one in.”</p><p>            Murph put the phone down, and Ramsey stuffed it into his back pocket, grateful that the door locked into place behind him so that he would not need to fumble with his keys. The night air hit him more sharply than it had done before, and his only hope was that Divya was far enough from his house that she would not see how he stumbled slightly down the path.</p><p>            The world seemed blurry, and Ramsey rubbed his fingers over the headache which still assaulted his skull. He was beginning to sober up, which meant only one thing; he needed something else to drink.</p><p>*          *          *         </p><p>            In all the years that The Rose and Crown had been his local, Ramsey could not remember it changing much. The walls were a little more yellow, the inhabitants a little more grey, but the atmosphere was the same, and that was the most important thing to him. People sat in the same seats which they had occupied for years, looking more like ornamental busts than punters, and in the far left corner between the women’s bathroom and the flickering fruit machine was Murph.</p><p>            Murph was shorter than Ramsey with arms which looked disproportionately long for his round body, but Ramsey had long since stopped teasing him over that. Less a childhood friend and more a childhood condition, a habit which Ramsey never seemed to break, he and Murph had known each other for decades. Longer than his marriage to Divya. Longer than Amelia had been alive. He was frivolous, and obnoxious at times, but he was loyal; he was a friend, something which Ramsey had a distinct lack of. And he was sat peeling the corner of a beer mat, two pints sat in front of him, one half empty and one untouched.</p><p>            “Evening.” Ramsey slid into the seat and the familiarity of the situation, shucking off his jacket.  </p><p>            “Alright mate. You okay?”</p><p>            Ramsey gulped down a third of his drink before responding. “Divya came round. Wanted to borrow money.”</p><p>            Murph rubbed his hand over his head where hair should have been, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “Cheeky cow. You should give her a piece of your mind.”</p><p>            Ramsey hummed his agreement, swilling the beer around the glass before taking another long drink. Murph had never liked Divya when she was Ramsey’s wife. Now that they were divorced Murph didn’t hesitate to let his true feelings be known.</p><p>            “I’m serious!” Murph leaned across the table, pointing a fat, dirty finger at Ramsey’s face. “You’re too soft on her, and she don’t deserve it.”</p><p>            Maybe he was right. Divya had been disagreeable at best during their marriage, and insufferable at worst, but still Ramsey had loved her and the family that they had built. It was possible that Amelia had been holding them together, because as soon as she was gone they had more than drifted apart; they had free-fallen, until happiness was just a distant memory. Despite that, despite everything that had happened, Ramsey still felt guilty about bad-mouthing Divya. She had been his wife, the mother to his child, and he had loved her. </p><p>            Murph sighed, defeated, no doubt tired of going across the same ground. </p><p>            “I’ve been thinking.” Murph started, and instantly Ramsey’s eyebrows raised. He knew Murph well enough to know that his ideas could either be very good or extremely bad. “You should go to our MP. Tell him what ya think.” </p><p>            Ramsey opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d heard, and certainly wasn’t the worst that Murph had ever come up with. Slowly, Ramsey nodded. “He could give me some answers.” </p><p>            “Exactly!” Murph slammed his hand on the table, making the other punters jump. “You were failed, Ramsey. Your entire family was. Someone needs to pay.” </p><p>            It wasn’t uncommon for Murph to spiral into a rant, so Ramsey tuned him out for the next couple hours, nodding where appropriate and finishing drink after drink. The pub announced last orders, and Murph’s attention was diverted, arguing with the bartender to stay open for a little longer. Instead of helping, Ramsey clapped Murph on the back and grabbed his jacket, heading home. </p><p>            He was lucky that The Rose and Crown was so close to where he lived; the rain had started, and Ramsey was wet through before he had even reached the bottom of the street. With his head down, Ramsey began to jog as best he could, water splashing the back of his legs as the puddles gathered across the pavement. There was not much traffic, given the time of night and how far from town he currently lived, so when a car took the corner too sharply and then screeched to a halt, Ramsey was startled. </p><p>            Someone appeared from the shadows across the road, sodden hood pulled over their head, and as they drew closer the person driving the car let their arm fall from the window, gloved first shut tight. The hooded person placed money into the car and took what was being held in the fist. Wordlessly, the car sped off and the person continued walking as though nothing had happened. This was such a frequent occurrence now that Ramsey wondered why it still shocked him. In recent years there had been a steady increase of drug-related crime, much to the dismay of the locals, who were utterly powerless to stop it. Ramsey was no different.</p><p>            Litter was soaked through and sticking to the sole of Ramsey’s boot. He tried to shake it off but it peeled slowly instead, falling to pieces in a melancholic pile of rain and mess. As Ramsey fought with the rubbish on the ground, he lost sight of the hooded figure, had to accept that there was nothing he could do. Ramsey felt a real, visceral anger build within him, stronger than he had ever experienced before. Society was rotting from the inside, and nobody was prepared to do anything about it. Amelia had been killed by a hit-and-run driver; a man barely over the threshold of his twenty-first birthday, high on a new hallucinogenic that Ramsey hadn’t even heard of before. The problem had stretched across the city, landing finally in the suburbs, and Ramsey could do nothing but watch. He was helpless. Pathetic. And he needed answers. </p><p>            There was nothing to be done tonight. Ramsey stumbled up his path and managed to push his door open after the third attempt. These emotions were important, and Ramsey would hold onto them, keeping them close until he could finally speak to his MP. Shuffling off his coat, he collapsed onto his settee and passed out fully dressed. It was a restless sleep, haunted by memories which Ramsey would rather forget. When he woke up after a couple hours and dragged himself upstairs, Ramsey felt worse than he had before. </p><p>*          *          *</p><p>            The days passed slowly and without purpose, with Ramsey losing his job not long after Amelia had been killed. That allowed for opportunities though, a free schedule which Ramsey used to organise a meeting with Duncan Caghn, his MP. Until then all he could do was wait, and The Rose and Crown was as good a place as any to waste his time. The pub was virtually empty during the afternoon, with the owner sat reading the paper, ignoring Ramsey and Murph who were occupying their usual spot near the broken fruit machine. Even though Ramsey had been drinking since around two, Murph had been at the Crown since opening time, and it showed. He swayed in his seat, words getting caught in his throat, and when he spoke he seemed to look through Ramsey, rather than directly at him. </p><p>            “You’re gonna see Caghn tomorrow.” he began, waggling his finger in Ramsey’s direction. “So make sure you know exactly what you want to say.” </p><p>            “I just need to talk about Amelia.” Ramsey cleared his throat, fiddling with the extra beermat on the table, sticky with a weeks worth of spilled booze. </p><p>            Murph narrowed his eyes.</p><p>            “Yeah but like, what pacifically?” Ramsey didn’t bother correcting Murph’s word choice, not when his mouth opened too wide as he spoke, the syllables sounding foreign. It would have been comical if Murph did not look so serious. “What’s really getting in your head about all this?”</p><p>            Ramsey thought for a moment, fingers tapping an uncertain rhythm on the grimy table. Everything about the situation made him angry; his daughter was dead. He had buried her. No parent should have to do that.</p><p>            “The cutbacks.” Ramsey spoke slowly. “The fact that there isn’t enough money for ambulances, and that the police don’t seem to give a fuck about the drug problem here.”</p><p>            “Yes!” Murph exclaimed, nodding avidly. “If there had been enough…” He wafted his hands vaguely. “Shit, Amelia would still be here.”</p><p>            Ramsey winced at that. Even if it were true, Murph could be ruthlessly direct, and sometimes it hurt. The door of the pub opened, and a new gaggle of customers came inside. Ramsey gestured at Murph to keep his voice down now, but there was no point, not when he got animated like this.</p><p>            “And another thing!” Murph threw his body backwards, rocking the table and causing their pints to overflow. “My brother. He was arrested over something fucking stupid. They have enough resources for that but not to deal with the real issues.” Murph stabbed his finger down on the air, as if the ‘real issues’ were going to be solved by two men in a run-down pub.</p><p>            Although Murph continued to speak, Ramsey stopped listening. He usually did when Murph started monologuing about his brother and how unfair his arrest was. Ramsey had always got along with Murph’s brother and parents, but he had met Murph’s father enough times to know that anger ran in the family. Even if Trev was innocent, and that fact alone left Ramsey sceptical at most, there was nothing that could be done for him now. That did not mean that Murph was wrong, of course; the police had intervened in a minor offence and yet did nothing to prevent the drug riddled streets or made any attempt to apologise for the failures which had led to Amelia’s death. Their heads were buried in the sand, and they only heard what they wanted to hear. Ramsey planned on changing that, on getting acknowledgement that Amelia’s death could have been stopped if money was distributed to the right causes, no matter what it took.</p><p>            “I’m going for a slash.” Murph burped, almost stumbling into the female toilets before correcting himself, laughing. In this state, it would not be long before they were asked to leave, and Ramsey was determined to get in at least another two pints before that happened. Afterall, he had an important meeting to prepare for.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>            For the first time in longer than Ramsey could remember, he woke up early. Showering and shaving took more care than usual, because he wanted to be thorough, leaving no room for a bad impression. He decided that a suit would be too formal, so instead opted for a dress shirt and his nicest pair of jeans. Admittedly they were fraying at the bottom and the crotch had already been sewn back together once, but Ramsey felt confident that with a good belt and the right pair of shoes he would look presentable.</p><p>            There were more grey hairs on his head than he remembered, and he noted them solemnly as he ran product through the salt and pepper strands. His face looked older, more haggard, but Ramsey pushed those thoughts aside. Today was an important day, and he could not allow himself to become distracted.</p><p>            As he laced up his old pair of scuffed brogues, Ramsey felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw that it was a text from Murph, reading simply,</p><p>            <em>Stick it to him, mate.</em></p><p>            It made him smile, easing his nerves slightly, and Ramsey used his phone to check the time. A taxi was due at any moment, so he stepped outside, took a deep breath of fresh air and thought how strange it was to be awake and sober at such a time of the day. Ramsey was grateful that he couldn’t dwell on that for long, as the taxi was on time for a change. Once Ramsey had given his destination he settled restlessly into the back seat. The car was dirty, littered with empty food wrappers and old newspapers, but the driver did not try and make conversation, and Ramsey was glad of that. Instead he used the journey as an opportunity to gather his thoughts for the final time. He wanted to make a difference, to ensure that nobody else had to go through what he and Divya had. Now all he needed was for Caghn to listen.</p><p>            As the taxi slowed outside of the MP’s office, Ramsey dug out his money and made sure that he still had enough to leave a tip, get home, and buy a beer. He didn’t, so instead gave the driver the exact amount, nodding his thanks and then squeezing between the three parked cars outside of the well-maintained reception.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>            There were not many people inside the cramped office, with the security loitering around the entrance and one lone receptionist sat quietly at her immaculate desk. Having less people to deal with made Ramsey feel momentarily better about himself, more confident, but that did not matter; only Caghn did now, and the closure which he would hopefully provide.</p><p>            He approached the secretary with an awkward smile. She was an older woman with glasses too big for her nose and a purple rinse. Her gaze barely washed over him before her eyes narrowed.</p><p>            “Can I help you?” Her voice was grating, each syllable dragging out longer than the first. Ramsey cleared his throat, swallowing hard.</p><p>            “I have a meeting with Dun- Mr Caghn this morning.”</p><p>            Although she raised her eyebrows at him, her acrylic nails were already tapping on the computer keyboard before Ramsey had finished speaking.</p><p>            “I’m sorry sir, but Mr Caghn has had to cancel all meetings for today.”</p><p>            Ramsey blinked three times before the words truly hit him. The woman eyed him with suspicion as he took another shaky step forward.</p><p>            “What?”</p><p>            “We did try to contact you, but Mr Caghn has had an urgent family emergency to attend to.”</p><p>            “Urgent?” Ramsey sneered. “What could possibly be more important than seeing me?”</p><p>            “Family has to come first, sir.” The way she spoke was condescending, as though Caghn’s values were somehow better than Ramsey’s based on status alone, and Ramsey felt a bubble of anger again, as intense as it had been after witnessing the drug deal only a few nights ago. He understood the significance of family; that was why he was here, after all. Ramsey could not accept that anything was more important than Amelia. He slammed his hand on the desk, making the woman jump. Her glasses almost fell from her face, and she adjusted them quickly, eyes wide and mouth gaping.</p><p>            “If you could step away from the desk-”</p><p>            “I’m not going anywhere until I get what I fucking came for.”</p><p>            It was rare for him to fly so quickly into rage, but all Ramsey could think of was Amelia’s hair, matted with blood, coiling around the pavement as she tried to smile one last time for her father. Excuses were not good enough; Caghn had decided that something else had taken precedent over Amelia, and to Ramsey that was unforgivable.</p><p>            He went to speak again, but the woman’s eyes were pleading over his shoulder, and as Ramsey turned around two strong pairs of hands bit painfully into his flesh. The secretary had buzzed for security, and now they were here to escort him smartly off the premises.</p><p>            “What the fuck?” Ramsey cried, struggling against their grip.</p><p>            “I’m gonna need you to calm down sir.”</p><p>            Ramsey thrashed his head towards him.</p><p>            “Calm down? You’re the ones that grabbed me!”</p><p>            He was still pulling when they emerged outside, trying to get away but forcing their grip tighter on Ramsey’s body. The man who had not spoken gestured behind him, but Ramsey could not dwell on that, not when his chances of getting justice for Amelia were slipping away from him.</p><p>            “Sir, stop struggling. Show us that we can let go.”</p><p>            Ramsey tried to breathe through his nose, to imagine he was the wind and centre his core and all the other crap he had heard from Divya when she had done yoga, but nothing helped. No matter how he tried to justify, or even ignore it, he was mad, and it must have showed; the men did not let go, and Ramsey was left embarrassed and ashamed, swearing and squirming for anybody who passed by to see.</p><p>            He was still stuck like that when the police arrived.</p><p>            “You called the cops?”</p><p>            “We are obliged to deal with these situations seriously.”</p><p>            Even with the cool morning air, Ramsey felt too hot. The humiliation and rage seeped from him until he was bundled into the back of the police car, leaving him slumped and exhausted. He needed a drink.</p><p>            This meeting was supposed to highlight the injustices in their region, and instead of solving them Ramsey found himself at the receiving end of it. They had assumed that he was as bad as the people who sold drugs in the street and drove vehicles under the influence, and that was the worst part. Ramsey had never wanted to be that kind of person, even if he had humble beginnings and always worked modest jobs. He had made an effort to present himself as exactly what he was; a hard-working man at first, but now nothing more than a struggling, grieving father. And yet, they had seen something else in him, something dark and violent that he did not recognise – or like. If this was what booze and anger did to him, then Ramsey would have to try and avoid them both.</p><p>            The police were nicer to him than expected, and even though he ended up at the station they let him off with a caution. This was the first trouble he had ever been involved in, besides what had happened to Amelia, and it was the same officer who had questioned him then who sat with him now. She was a stern, albeit friendly woman, and empathised enough with Ramsey’s frustration to let him go. That did not make Ramsey feel any better of course, and after an uncomfortable bus ride he paused outside of the off-license just one street away from his house.          </p><p>            Amelia had died only ten yards from here. Ramsey had asked her to go to the shop, he couldn’t even remember what for now, and when she had not returned he had gone looking for her. She had died in his arms, surrounded by strangers, as they waited for an ambulance which had been promised but arrived far too late. There had been none available within a forty mile radius, and as a result Ramsey had lost the best thing in his life. Today had been about creating a better future, and yet all Ramsey could do was focus on his horrific past.</p><p>            He wanted to go inside the off license and buy them out of alcohol, but even as his fingers twitched he knew that he could not do it. If Ramsey got drunk now, he would be proving the secretary and security right; he would be showing that he had no control, or decency, and he couldn’t bear that.</p><p>            Ramsey forced his legs to move, shuffling rigidly away from the shop and turning the corner down his own street. When he spotted Murph sitting on the curb outside his house, Ramsey paused. He was wearing a matching tracksuit, the oldest one he owned, and had a blue plastic bag next him to him. Ramsey dreaded what it could be full of. As he got closer, he saw that Murph held an open bottle of whiskey, not an expensive label but also not an own brand. That meant that he was ready to either celebrate or console. Ramsey didn’t like the idea of either. Whiskey made Murph angry, and Ramsey didn’t think that he was in the right place to deal with that yet.</p><p>            “Mate, where ya been?” Murph scrambled to his feet, frowning with indignation at being left on the street for so long.</p><p>            Ramsey checked his watch. He had been three hours longer than expected, and it was now past midday. There was no indication as to how long Murph had been waiting other than his seemingly jovial mood, and that was telling enough. He had not been there long.</p><p>            “Just around.”</p><p>            Murph waited for something more, urging Ramsey on with a wave of his hand, but the other man sighed. As he unlocked his door, Murph followed him inside without an invitation.</p><p>            “How did it go then?”</p><p>            Up close Ramsey could smell the whiskey on Murph already. For some reason, whiskey made Murph react differently than other alcohol, and knowing this set Ramsey’s nerves further on edge. He decided to withhold some information on his experience that morning, just in case Murph did not handle it well.</p><p>            “Caghn cancelled the meeting.”</p><p>            The bag fell to the floor, Murph’s eyes going wide as his brow pulled down.</p><p>            “He what?”</p><p>            Ramsey shrugged.</p><p>“Said there was something more important to do.”</p><p>Murph shook his head, tongue pressed against the side of his cheek.</p><p>“Nah, nah, nah… they can’t do this to you. To us.”</p><p>The comment threw Ramsey off. He expected Murph to be annoyed of course, but not to take it personally. This was about his daughter, after all. Still, having someone who he could depend on made a pleasant change, so even if it was strange Ramsey was not about to complain.</p><p>“There’s nothing else we can do.” Ramsey sighed, defeated. As he unlaced his shoes, now caked with dust and dirt, he heard Murph clanging around his kitchen, brow furrowed when his friend appeared with two glasses full of brown liquid.</p><p>“First, get this down ya.”</p><p>Even though Ramsey refused, Murph still thrust the glass into his hand. Ramsey knew that he shouldn’t drink, did not especially want to at that moment in time, but after he watched Murph down the liquor and then smile at him, it almost seemed like a good idea. Murph tipped the empty glass in Ramsey’s direction, encouraging him. His ego had taken as much bruising as it could in one day, so with a resentful groan Ramsey drank the whiskey. The burn was familiar and not nearly as unpleasant to him as it had been twenty years ago, and Ramsey relished in the warmth of it. If Ramsey had learned anything, it was that nothing soothed discomfort better than more alcohol. He inclined his glass to Murph for a refill.</p><p>“We can see if Caghn is doing any events this weekend.” Murph poured the whiskey messily, and for a moment Ramsey panicked, not wanting to upset Divya or Amelia with stains on the floor. But then he remembered that it didn’t matter anymore and drank the second glass gladly. “Try and get him on his own. Sort him out.”</p><p>Ramsey nodded slowly as they moved from the hallway into the living room. Murph sprawled across the settee and Ramsey collapsed pitifully on the floor next to him. The bottle filled the space between them, and Ramsey poured himself another glass.</p><p>He let Murph pull out his phone and do the research, content to nurse the alcohol and think about everything that had happened. How could things go so wrong so rapidly? Ramsey could hardly comprehend it. Eighteen months ago, Ramsey had a reasonably happy marriage, a steady job, and a beautiful daughter who loved as readily as she had been loved. Now he was sprawled on his dirty living room floor, drinking before tea time with his best friend. It was like living in a nightmare, with each passing second pushing him further and further into the darkness.</p><p>“Good news pal!” Murph sat forward, dangling his phone in front of Ramsey’s face and startling him out of his thoughts. “Caghn is doing an opening ceremony tonight, a new eating bit down town.”</p><p>            “Tonight?” Ramsey was uncertain, knowing that booze and frustration rarely went well together, especially for him recently.</p><p>            “Strike whilst the iron’s hot!” Murph slapped Ramsey on the shoulder, reaching down to grab the bottle of whiskey. Instead of pouring another tumbler, Murph took a swig straight from the bottle. Even though Ramsey winced, he did not comment. It did not seem fair, not after everything Murph had done for him. Besides, he had a point. If Ramsey waited he risked being forgotten, and Ramsey had already been humiliated once; he was not about to let that happen again. He grabbed Murph’s phone, searching for the address. The venue in question was relatively local, in an area that Ramsey knew quite well.</p><p>            “We can make that, easy.”</p><p>            “Ay!” Murch jeered. “That’s the spirit.”</p><p>            It was strange how good he felt in that moment, and Ramsey even found a smile on his lips when the glass next touched his tongue. If the issue with Caghn could be resolved then Ramsey would be free to stop drinking, find a job, and finally begin to build his life back up again. For once, Ramsey felt a flicker of hope in the pit of his stomach, but it was extinguished quite abruptly when Ramsey’s phone rang.</p><p>            He answered it without even checking the called ID, something he never normally did, so was taken aback when Divya’s harsh tones began to mock him.</p><p>            “So you’re getting arrest now, huh?” There was laughter in her voice, but it was anything but friendly.</p><p>            “What?”</p><p>            “A woman I work with saw you outside of Duncan Caghn’s office this morning, she said the police took you away.”</p><p>            Ramsey felt his jaw set, knuckles going white around the phone in his hand.</p><p>            “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”</p><p>            Murph was sat looking at him with interest, but Ramsey decided it best not to mention his ex-wife’s name. He rolled his eyes instead, leg bouncing as the line crackled.</p><p>            “I guess not. Just good to know what kind of scum I married.” Her voice was tinny, as though she had him on loudspeaker instead of talking to him directly, and somehow that just made Ramsey angrier. She didn’t even have the decency to stop what she was doing and speak to him, and the only purpose of the call was to make Ramsey feel bad. He had already experienced enough of that for one day.</p><p>            Ramsey clambered to his feet.</p><p>            “You know what, Divya? Fuck you.” He began pacing the room as the other end of the phone went silent, all intentions of not letting Murph overhear completely forgotten. “I did my best. I did my fucking best. I’m sorry that it was never good enough for you, and I’m sorry that you blame me for what happened to Amelia, but I don’t need this bollocks.”</p><p>            “How dare you-”</p><p>            “No, you listen to me for once. Don’t bother contacting me again. Unless it’s about Amelia, I don’t wanna hear any more shit from you, you hear me? Piss off and leave me the fuck alone.”</p><p>            Ramsey slammed his thumb on the ‘end call’ button and threw his phone across the room in one fluid motion. It shattered easily, glass and plastic falling across the back wall. With shaky breath, Ramsey ran his hands through his hair and ignored Murph when he clapped, slow and deliberate.</p><p>            “Finally.” Murph grinned, standing up too so that they were at eye-level.</p><p>            “Who does she think she is?” Ramsey hissed and Murph rested a hand on his arm.</p><p>            Their gazes met, and Murph’s smile turned nefarious, body going still.</p><p>            “I know mate, but we can get her back.” Murph paused, eyes narrowing. “We can get them all back.”</p><p>            Even if Ramsey did not understand what Murph meant, he still agreed with him. At that moment, his friend was all he had, and Ramsey wasn’t about to lose him over petty semantics.</p><p>            “Nobody has the right to treat you this way. Nobody at all.” Murph walked to the window looking outside. “But we can sort this out, you and me. Together.” He seemed to be bustling with energy, bouncing from foot to foot. Ramsey had not seen him like this often, but it did not seem to be a bad thing, so he agreed.</p><p>            “Together.”</p><p>            They passed the bottle of whiskey between them, drinking from it until there was none left, and Ramsey turned it upside down, trying to find the last drops and hoping that maybe he would find himself in the bottom of the bottle, too.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>            They had almost been late to the ceremony, with Murph deciding that he needed to go home beforehand. He would not explain why, simply grinned from ear to ear, teasing Ramsey with the prospect that he would have everything dealt with by the end of the evening. Even if it was foolish, and naïve, and was likely to end in disappointment, Ramsey still trusted Murph.</p><p>            Families were gathered, a mixture of elderly couples and nosey women with children and husbands who already looked bored. Ramsey wondered idly who was there out of necessity and who had attended for pleasure alone, but the solemn expression that most customers held told him that few fell into the latter category.</p><p>            “We gotta try and get to the front row.”</p><p>            For someone who could barely stand, Murph seemed determined to see their plan through. They would wait until after Caghn had finished his speech and then corner him, forcing him to speak to them and give the answers which Ramsey had been denied earlier that day.</p><p>            There was a table at the far end of the room, elevated on a stage which also held a piano and a microphone. The people who sat on the table were well-dressed and chatting animatedly amongst themselves, but only one of them was familiar to Ramsey. He had seen that face before, on the local news and on pamphlets, posted through his letterbox. Duncan Caghn, their MP.</p><p>            Only one seat was available at the front, but Murph stole a chair from another table without asking and settled next to Ramsey, who tried to apologise to the woman who Murph had taken the chair from. Before he could speak to her, Caghn stood up and approached the microphone. He was an ageing man, the archetypal gentleman with well-kept facial hair and a suit which matched in every aspect. His voice was exactly as expected, loud and deep but not intimidating. If his body had not been buzzing with alcohol and frustration, Ramsey would no doubt trust Duncan Caghn, even finding interest in what the other man was about to say, but there was nothing more important to him than Amelia, and getting the answers he deserved.</p><p>            “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the beautiful Dee’s Kitchen on their opening night.”</p><p>            Ramsey’s leg bounced in anticipation, listening to what Caghn was saying but not taking in any of the information. The only noise that he could register was Murph’s sneering and heckling, assuming that it was quiet enough to stay between them. If they caused a scene then their day spent planning would have been for nothing, and Ramsey saw no reason for Murph to sabotage that. Murph’s voice must have been louder than expected, because they were approached by two security guards, thankfully different from the men who had escorted Ramsey from the office that morning.</p><p>            “Can you keep him quiet, mate?” One asked Ramsey, who nodded.</p><p>            “Sure, sorry.”</p><p>            He did not know why Murph was acting like this, going so far against the plan which they had spent all day perfecting, but even in a liquor induced haze, Ramsey felt embarrassed.</p><p>            “Who do you think you are?” Murph snapped, and the security guard shook his head, arms folding menacingly.</p><p>            “I could ask you the same question.”</p><p>            “<em>He’s</em> the guy that <em>you</em> mugged off earlier!” Murph punctuated his sentence by pointing from Ramsey to the MP, and the room fell silent. Those who had been trying to ignore the exchange now craned their necks to look, and Ramsey took a deep breath, tugging at Murph’s sleeve  to try and get him to calm down, worried that this could get them both thrown out and ruin their plan entirely.</p><p>            Caghn apologised onstage, stalking over to where the two men where sat.</p><p>            “What’s your problem?”</p><p>            Before Ramsey could speak, Murph stubbed his finger into Caghn’s chest.</p><p>            “You’re my problem. You cancelled his meeting today.”</p><p>            The MP blinked slowly before an apologetic smile pulled at his lips.</p><p>            “Mr Parker? I am so sorry about this morning.” Caghn reached out to shake Ramsey’s hand, and he tried not to flinch away from the contact. “My son had an accident at school and I had to drive him to the hospital. My wife doesn’t drive and, well… children come first.”</p><p>            He gestured at a boy sat on the table onstage. He seemed to be around the same age as Amelia, and after seeing Caghn this close Ramsey saw that the boy had his father’s eyes, and a pair of crutches propped on the wall behind him. They had to be close, or at least close enough that he would come with his father to work events. Ramsey had that kind of connection with Amelia, and now it was gone.</p><p>            “They do.” Ramsey felt numb. He had acted like a petulant child when, if he were being truthful, he would have been the same in Caghn’s position. He would have done anything for Amelia.</p><p>            “Can we reschedule for next week? I’m very interested in what you have to say.”</p><p>            “Of course. I’ll be in touch.”</p><p>            Caghn smiled again, placing a hand on Ramsey’s shoulder before heading back to complete his speech.</p><p>            Murph had been silently watching the exchange, but once the MPs back was turned he clattered to his feet.</p><p>            “If you won’t do what needs to be done then I will!” Murph snarled, and Ramsey saw it then, small and silver and already extended from the palm of Murph’s hand; a knife.</p><p>            Everything fell into place then, connecting together to show an image which Ramsey did not want to picture. Murph’s intent was different to his, had been all along, and even if Ramsey had not directly encouraged Murph’s violent tendencies he certainly did not fight any of them. Without thinking, Ramsey grabbed Murph’s arm and took the blade from him. It was a simple flick knife, and Ramsey forced it closed, stuffing it hastily into his pocket before anyone could see. Everyone was focused on Murph, not him, but still Ramsey felt his heart race at the prospect of what Murph had tried to do.</p><p>            His friend opened his mouth to argue, but instead of heading towards Ramsey, Murph stumbled backwards into one of the security guards. The threat he offered then became almost totally illegible towards the end, and Ramsey winced in shame.</p><p>“That’s it, you’re out.”</p><p>            The guards grabbed Murph by the jacket, kicking and screaming, words slurring into one large curse. The security guards dragged him through the customers and forced him outside. Murph was threatened with the police, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear, and instead of showing embarrassment or remorse, Murph swore at them once more and then spat in their direction before stalking down the street.</p><p>            Once he was out of sight, all eyes fell on Ramsey instead. He tried to apologise sheepishly, acting mortified by how his friend had behaved when truthfully Ramsey felt afraid. If he had not realised what Murph had been planning then Ramsey could be inside a police car now. Or an ambulance. There were signs that something had been wrong, and Ramsey was frustrated that he was just realising that now, when it had almost been too late. Letting Murph loose on the streets now seemed dangerous, but Ramsey did not want to risk suspicion by chasing after him or ruin his chances at another meeting with Caghn. As the MP had said, children came first. Ramsey had to do this for Amelia. To his knowledge, Murph had never done anything this severe before, and Ramsey could only hope that the cocktail of alcohol and anger had caused something uncharacteristically dark to manifest within his oldest friend. If they were lucky, Murph would get help and this nightmare would start to draw to a close. But Ramsey had started to assume that he would always be unlucky, and the alternate possibilities of the situation came to mind, far too dire for him to dwell on for long.</p><p>            Feeling sick to his stomach, Ramsey staggered to the toilets. He ran the faucet for a moment, splashing cold water across his face and coughing until bile rose in his throat. Ramsey did not recognise the reflection in the mirror, did not associate the man he had become with who he had been before Amelia’s death, and the divorce which followed shortly after.  </p><p>            How had he ended up like this? Life had seemed so easy when Amelia was alive, and now each day was a struggle. Even though Ramsey had acknowledged that fact, had taken the first step to recovery in doing so, he also understood that it was not that simple. Weaning yourself from something you had grown so dependent on was never an easy task. And now with Murph gone it felt as though the alcohol was his only friend. Some people might call him an alcoholic, but they had made worse assumptions about him during that day alone. And could he blame them, or even begin to prove them wrong? Ramsey could not recall the last time he had gone a full day sober, and now he was in public with a knife that his best friend had wanted to use on their MP, drunk out of his wits. There was no justification for that, no events extreme enough to warrant such violence. Ramsey was not qualified to offer a commentary of the issues which plagued his town if he was also part of the problem.</p><p>            “Is everything okay, sir?”</p><p>            The voice startled him, and Ramsey looked into the mirror, locking eyes with Caghn’s son as he hobbled into the bathroom.</p><p>            However, the fact remained true that it was Caghn’s cutbacks which had caused such drastic changes to services. Maybe Amelia would still be alive if it weren’t for him.</p><p>            The thought was dangerous, a landslide which carried Ramsey right down to the depths of his being and forced him to acknowledge what type of a man he truly was. He remembered the saying, ‘an eye for an eye’, and suddenly the knife felt heavier in his pocket; more weighted and important. If Caghn was to blame for the death of his daughter, then why should he enjoy the happiness that was robbed from Ramsey?</p><p>            The boy in the mirror tilted his head in confusion, crutches scraping the newly tiled floor, and Ramsey knew that he only had two choices now. He could be the man that society expected him to be, or the man that Amelia had always thought he was. Caghn’s son took a small, shuffling step towards him, and Ramsey felt the answer with such clarity it almost crippled him. His hand tightened around the knife for a fleeting moment, and then he spun on his heel to face the boy, wondering how Amelia would feel if she were here. But that didn’t matter. She was dead. The thought echoed in the bleak chamber of Ramsey’s mind as he walked towards the young boy and smiled slowly.</p><p>            “It will be now.” </p>
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